


Survivor's Guilt

by Kagutsuchi



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Drabble Collection, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-11-29 21:22:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kagutsuchi/pseuds/Kagutsuchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles about Sasuke and Karin's relationship, and the conflation of need with want it entails.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Commingle

He lived for the sensory flood.

She was vitriol, she burned like acid through his veins; the pain was that of a joint relocated, a bone reset, for with it came the relief that he could still feel, that he breathed and bled _because_ he was living, rather than _in spite_ of living.

Injury was not sought, nothing so callous as that. But it was welcomed, because with it came the flood. He would lay in her arms, straining and waiting for a sound — that of her lungs pumping raggedly, and her heart fluttering like a rabbit’s, frightened and thrilled by the flow of his own chakra into her quavering arm, or shoulder, or chest. 

It pooled there, and mingled, and purpled - his blue with her red. And in that moment, only flesh could keep them from each other; their souls were of a piece.

In a heap they lay afterwards, after he had dealt with the enemy. And now it was his turn to cradle her head in his hands if she had given so much of herself that she collapsed, insensible to his grasp and the way in which, before zipping up her collar, he would trace every scar on her chest.


	2. Raison d’être

She cried out and he turned without craning his neck upwards of where he crouched, and he blinked, dark lashes laced with frost.

“Oi,” she barked with unnecessary loudness again, cuffing him on the shoulder. “It’s stupid to sit so close to the entrance this late at night. You don’t want to fall asleep and die of exposure or something.” 

He remained silent and pensive, completely ignoring her. This kind of behavior used to anger and sadden her, as she could only imagine what might be on his mind and there was nothing she could do to relieve him of that burden, but it merely annoyed her under circumstances such as these. He needed rest, sleep, and warmth. Brooding half-frozen on a winter’s night would get him none of those things.

“Get in the cave. You can go back to over-thinking everything again later.”

He didn’t bat a lash. Karin could have counted the snowflakes caught in them, he was so still, and she was trudging away from the cavern half-drifted in snow and she was not looking back. He found her huddled against the base of a pine. Her face was buried in her hands. 

“You stupid fuck,” she breathed into her palms. “I shouldn’t care about you more than you care about yourself.”

He slipped a numb hand beneath her chin and tilted her face up towards the low-hanging boughs above them, while with the other, he brushed aside the wet, matted tangle that hung over her right temple to see her lower lip trembling and the powder snow on her cheeks striated with tear tracks.

“But you do. And that’s all that matters.”

It was a dictation and not a profession.


	3. Touch

Karin sat in the examination room, fidgeting nervously with the strings of her hospital gown. Kabuto had told her that this would be a routine check-up for the most part and that they would only be taking a little of her blood this time. 

She looked at her arms and shuddered. Karin tried her best to avoid looking at them, to keep them out of sight if she could. She never wore short sleeves. But the hospital gown had no sleeves, so she bore the increasing number of bite marks on her arms for all to see. Well, just Kabuto. But it didn’t matter. She hated looking at them, and found them unsightly. Here, the swift, clean puncture wound of some fanged creature, probably one of the many Cursed Seal bearers who had sucked up some of her potent chakra. There, a jagged wound, where one of those creatures had handled her more roughly. It wasn’t just that these scars were ugly, they were also reminders of pain, and fear, and subjection. She couldn’t stand being a test subject. But more than that, she couldn’t stand being powerless. 

In any case, the only way for her to assert herself at present was by gritting her teeth and hiding her tears. She lay down on the cold slab that served as this particular hideout’s examination table, and waited for Kabuto to enter the small cavern in which she now anticipated she would experience even more pain, fear, and subjection.

He approached her with scalpel in hand, steady and unwavering as always. Karin had hoped that today would be a syringe day. She couldn’t help it, though she fought it with all her might - she began to weep openly, hot tears streaming down her cheeks to drip from the bottom of a chin that she was too proud to allow to tremble. 

“Why do you do these things? With that same hand, you could heal me. You are one of the strongest shinobi I have ever met, and you choose to stick me full of poison and pick apart my flesh.”

It was true. Not that she had seen many strong shinobi in her day, being from a village devoid of true ninja, but he must be powerful if he served under Orochimaru. 

Impassive as ever, he was drawing blood now, and she winced beneath the blade, but it did not go in as deeply as it normally did. He stopped, lifted the scalpel clean away, and began to wash it in the sink. She could not suppress her whimpering. It was not normally so bad! What was wrong with her today? She had gotten worked up; she had gotten angry. And with a self-righteousness that served to lay all the injustice in her life before her, she had drawn forth sorrow, as blood from an inward wound.

Kabuto put away the scalpel and faced her without expression, chakra solid and unreadable.

“Stay put. There’s been a change in plans. I’d like to conduct some more extensive tests.” She lay trembling with anticipation until she sensed his chakra. That cool, reassuring stream of liquid metal, like spring rain, only more solid, and colder. He was walking towards the examination room.

What followed was a series of incisions and anesthetizations, little of which penetrated the conscious mind. What did was the grasp of a steady, firm hand, consistent through every stage of the procedure recalled.


	4. Lavender

There was a beauty to the purple stippling of her porcelain skin. She hated it, he knew, for she always kept it sheathed in long sleeves and a high collar, leaving her unblemished back and stomach exposed, as if they were the only part of her upper body she was proud of.

But he loved her scars. They were strength made visible to him; a reminder that her pain was as real as his, even if it was lesser. Something of comparable scale had happened to her family, yes, but not of comparable acuity.

They were alone. Taka had stopped to rest en route to delivering the unconscious body of the Hachibi, and Juugo was crouched on a nearby riverbank in the company of a semi-lucid Suigetsu, who was now swimming around half-liquified.

Sasuke sat holding her, his back against the ample trunk of a shady tree. The Land of Lightning was a country of mild temperatures and refreshing morning mists, so it wasn’t hard to travel in, and one could find comfort even without a roof over one’s head.

She still hadn’t woken up. After an ordeal like that, Sasuke knew it would take her a few hours, perhaps even a day to regain consciousness, having so depleted her chakra stores. The only other person he’d ever known to have such powerful chakra was Naruto.

He blinked his eyes in agitation. There was to be no thinking of the past, of the foolish notion of nakama, of bonds. Yet even as the blood of his clan, and his brother, cried out to him, he had still risked everything for his companions. When the black flames had seared her flesh, flesh he knew to be mangled more than enough, his body had moved on its own. Much as it had on a bridge shrouded in mist long ago.

Her shirt was still unzipped, so he could see the defined slope of her clavicles and glimpse her meager chest, all riddled with the lavender of old puncture wounds in which she could never find beauty, but in which he found more every day. He zipped it up.

Karin moved in her sleep, her head pressed against his chest and the rest of her body angled awkwardly off his lap, such that it was oddly contorted. He straightened her out lengthwise and drew her close enough to feel her gentle, measured breathing ruffling the fabric of his cloak. He told himself that it would help her rest.


End file.
